Drifting
by Anii Midori
Summary: Alfred approaches Arthur with a shocking idea. Reservations... to a cruiseship? Not at all happy, Arthur-along with Matt and Francis- is dragged on Sunshine Cruiselines. Not only that, but Feli and Ludwig just happen to be attending the same cruise. Six nations on one cruiseship- what could go wrong? That question is easily answered when all of them are thrown to sea and seperated!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: On The Road**

His younger brother had sprung on him the last world nations meeting, holding that dreaded brochure in his grasp. He had dopey grin plastered on his face.

"Arthur! Guess what?" Al had slapped Arthur on the back, almost bringing the Brit crumbling to his knees. The twit didn't realize his own strength, did he?

"What is it?" England's icy tone made America waver, but only for a moment. His countenance revealed hurt for a few seconds, but before Arthur could feel the slightest bit guilty, Alfred was already grinning ear to ear again.

"This summer's gonna be a hot one, right? Sooo, I was thinking that maybe we could hop on a cruise ship for a week this July and, I don't know," Alfred slicked his hair back and made a flowing movement with his arm, "Unstress-ify. What do ya think? Sounds like fun, right?"

Arthur only looked at Alfred, letting the words sink in. Cruise… Boat... Ocean. The words made the back of his eyes sting and his fingers shake. Oh god, he needed an excuse.

"Uhm, I- well, you see-"

"No need to thank me! I invited France already, now you, and I have one more spot left, I think," America had said, counting on his fingers. "I'll probably give it to Matt… he doesn't have much of a life… I'll text you the deets later!" Alfred slapped Arthur's back in a friendly gesture, shoved the brochure for Sunshine Cruiseline into his hands, and strutted off, in search of Matthew, no doubt.

After that, it had been too late to come up with an excuse. America was dead-set on dragging him, the frog, and Canada onto the ship with him, even if it meant listening to fighting the entire time. They had decided to share a hotel room after that month's meeting and then head to the dock together the next morning, picking up an excited France and a timid Canada on the way. Although he wished he could tell his brother that he could drive himself, Arthur had learned over the years that renting cars in the US was expensive, and he was in no position financially to refuse the offer of free transportation from Alfred.

Well, after a good month of preparing himself mentally and listening to Al's ramblings on how much fun they would have, the day had arrived. By tonight, he, Arthur Kirkland, would be on a cruise. The thought of spending the next seven days on a ship with none other than his bigmouthed brother, and that perverted frog made his knees go weak and his head throb.

He doubted he was going to make it through the next week.

His forest green suitcase lay open on the bed while Arthur tucked in the things he needed for a week-long summer vacation. He put each item in with shaking hands, unsure why he had agreed to this in the first place. Of all things, why a boat? The last time he had been on one was so long ago, back in the days when he was a pirate. He could hardly imagine himself on one again, much less for an entire week.

The door creaked open and booming footsteps crossed the threshold, sending the already jittery Arthur into the air.

"God, Arthur! Would you hurry up already? I've already got all of my stuff in the back of the car." Alfred poked his brother's back and huffed when he got no reply. He tried again, and this time his hand was slapped away by the fuming Brit.

"Don't do that, dammit! I'll take as much bloody time as I want! Go make yourself useful and fetch my toothbrush from the bathroom if you want to go so bad!"

"Gees, man. You don't wanna go? I paid a lot for these reservations… Really, if you don't want them, I'll just give 'em to Gilbert or something…" He said, looking annoyed. An alarm of some sort panged sharply, the sound omitting from his now lit up phone. Al's eyes widened as he checked the time. "Shit- we still have to pick up Francis and Matt! It's like an hour drive, and the docks are always _so_ crowded if you don't get there a good two hours before-"

"Just leave! I'm finishing packing, and I want a few mere moments of peace before I have to get in the car with that frog, and _you!"_ Arthur pushed his brother out of the room roughly and calmed his quaking hands before he put them on Alfred's shoulders.

"Go get my toothbrush and start the car. I'll be out in a moment." The door was slammed on a peeved looking American and there was silence, at least for the moment. Arthur took deep, shaky breaths and waited for Alfred's loud footsteps and angry mumbling to disappear out the hotel door before he had a mental breakdown.

He leaned heavily on the closed door, and slid to the floor, letting the shaking get the best of him. Arthur's hands shook so hard they almost looked blurred, and he let out unstable breaths as he waited for the panic attack to pass. The water. He was going to be on a boat in _water_ for an entire week. A _week. An entire bloody week. _

Of all the things on Earth, he had one fear that reigned above all. He didn't do well with water, never had, and probably never would. It of course caused problems for him, saying as America was always dragging him from beach to beach, pool to pool, and always teased him about never going in. Alfred's harsh and kidding words scraped the back of his mind, _'What, didja' never learn to swim? You're being such a wuss! God, Arthur, stop acting like your three and get in the fucking water!' _But the Englishman was too afraid to get in. The sound of rippling stream water echoed through his head, chorusing, ringing, making his head pound and his heart race.

He didn't need to ask himself why it was he was so afraid of the deep blue liquid that could look more beautiful than the world itself, yet as chilling as death. He knew the answer. It was clear as day, always in the back of his mind, yet he refused to acknowledge it. Why was he behaving like such a child? He was a pirate once right?

…_Buzzz… Buzzz... _

His cell was sitting on the wooden hotel floors, vibrating and shaking rapidly. He snatched it up and opened up the text from Alfred, grateful for the distraction.

**[Message from: Alfred]**

**get ur limey ass down here! wer so l8! D:**

**[Sent 10:34am]**

He was going to take the time to type out every obscene and offensive word in his vocabulary and send it in reply, but he only sighed, not wanting to fight the entire hour drive to France's and Canada's hotel. So, deciding he would be the better man-something that Alfred was not capable of-he just sent back a short reply of 'I'm coming' and gathered up his suitcase. America was most definitely not the cute little child he used to be, and it drove him utterly mad.

As he watched the little envelope icon disappear with a 'message sent', it struck him that Alfred wasn't the only person he was afraid would tease him. He cringed at the thought of what Francis would say if he heard of Arthur's little fear. He was a man, dammit. He could do this, and he would, whether he liked it or not. Or at least that was what he continued telling himself as he double checked that his foolish brother had remembered everything and headed out the door of the hotel room, stomach flipping.

The sign of the Hilton was large and lit up, the American flag out front waving. It was so hot out in California, even at only 10:30 in the morning, so unlike the foggy days in England that never failed to put him a sour mood. He took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it out his mouth, working to get his pulse down. If he could only calm down…

The parking lot was large and full of cars, yet it only took him a few seconds to find the bright red, white, and blue Jeep. Stars littered the entire mass of metal, and a giant eagle head was painted on the hood. It was horrendous riding in that car with his brother; no matter where they went, people stared, beeped their horns, and more than once they had found a crowd around the vehicle, taking pictures with big camera's and phones. Funny thing was, as much as _he _hated it, he knew that this was exactly what America wanted. Attention, as usual. Hell, he had been like that since he was a child. Honestly, he wondered where, or rather, whom, he had picked it up from, as it was _certainly _not Arthur. Probably France, the damn frog.

America was waiting by the car for him, his foot tapping with frustration. His scowl deepened considerably at the sight of his slightly shorter brother.

"Dude, do you have any idea how many times he's fucking _called_ me in the last _hour_?" America thundered, waving his phone in the air.

"No, and I don't wish to hear. Where is there room for this?" Arthur sighed, focusing on the sound of the cars swishing past on the highway rather than the haunting thought of his impending doom.

Alfred walked to the back and peered in. He grunted. "Not too much room left with my stuff… give it here, I'll make it fit. Got no idea how the other two are gonna get _their_ stuff to fit here too, but we'll have to figure somethin' out when we pick them up…" He said as he began stuffing the bag in place as hard as he could, despite England's cries of, "Careful, you twit!"

America seemed to have forgotten the fact that he was supposed to be angry and gave England a goofy smile.

"You ready to go? Get in!" Alfred opened up the passenger door and gestured inside. Usually England would protest at being treated like a woman and claim the driver's wheel, but he knew he wasn't in any condition to drive, what with his unstable hands and wandering mind. He climbed in and shut the door behind him as America settled himself in the front seat.

The car was started, and America glanced behind him as he pulled out of the parking lot and turned to the highway. With careful hands, he reached for his phone, which was nestled in the cup holder and slid it open to type on the little key board inside.

"Alfred! What are you _doing?_"

"Chill out, man, I'm just texting France to let him know we're on our way."

"In the middle of the goddamn _freeway?_"

"It'll only take a few-"

"How many times must I tell you not to text while driving! I'll do it!" He plucked Alfred's phone out of his hands and placed it back into the cup holder, then retrieved his own phone from his pocket and unlocked it.

"…Gees, man, what crawled up your ass?"

"Shut your mouth and focus on the road, you twit!" Arthur snapped. America's frown deepened, but he just shrugged and did as he was told, used to the Englishman's crabby behavior.

Arthur switched on his phone, and grunted impatiently as he waited for it to turn on. One look out the window sent the sun into his eyes and it pierced him like daggers. He was still getting used to the whole sun-shining-all-day thing.

His touchscreen beeped and the phone came to life, the keys lighting up and the screen showing his wallpaper- a picture of America and Canada when they were much younger. England stopped, taking a few moments to admire the picture that reminded him of better days. America's eyes held a brightness that England hadn't seen in a long time; a brightness that had always seemed to spread like wildfire to everyone around him. His big smile revealed a missing front tooth and Nantucket stuck strait up, always refusing to stay down, as if it had a life of its own. Canada was holding his twins hand, eyes equally as bright. His smile and overall appearance wasn't outgoing and shining like his brothers, his was sweeter in a way that was almost indescribable, which made your heart melt. In the background an always flashy France was winking, his hair down to his shoulders and blowing in the wind. The sun shining through the trees made the blond waves look beautiful, like thin strands of gold.

The picture symbolized better times. Times when life was simple. Easier. More fun. It seemed so delicate, as if almost breakable, like it would shatter if you got too close.

England wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he missed it all. He missed all of the chaos that went on during the day, and even during the night. When he and France actually got along enough to be in the same room without a screaming match. When America and Canada came to him for help with anything: scraped knees, broken toys, small fights. In some ways, he was more their father and mother figure than their older brother. As for France, he shared the role too. He cared for them as much as himself, which England would never admit out loud. And in that instant, England wished that things would go back to how they were, how they used to be. But that was the past. Things could never go back to the way they were, not after their little family had fallen apart, so unable to piece back together again.

"You still have that picture, huh?" The usually obnoxious voice was soft, and if England wasn't mistaken, _sad._

England jumped realizing that America had been staring over his shoulder for quite some time now. His cheeks heated up and Al's face lit up in a grin- one that as lively as it was could never amount to the ones he used to sport.

"J-just focus on driving…" The comment was snappy and mumbled, but softer than before. Arthur looked away, crossing his arms.

America just happily turned up the radio, nodding his head in approval with an, "Oh yeah! Good song!" After only a minute, England almost wanted to send a bullet through the stereo, ending the repeated chorus of: _BORN-in the U-S-A, I was- BORN- in the U-S-A, I was- BORN- in the U-S-A, I was- BORN- in the U-S-A…_

It was making his headache a good tenfold worse. With a start he remembered that he was supposed to text Francis, and pulled up a new message. If anything could get his mind off things, it was texting France.

**[Message to: Frog]**

**Stop calling, you foppish dumbass! We're on our way so you can calm the hell down!**

**[Sent 11:04am]**

He hit send with a smirk. _Suck on that, you frog._

His phone went off a minute later, and he opened the text eagerly.

**[Message from: Frog]**

**Ohhh, Arthur, such vulgar language. I do believe I'll need to give your mouth a good washing… ;)**

**[Sent 11:06am]**

Funny, the usual heated text from France didn't help him in the slightest. He usually did it to get his mind off things that he didn't want to think about for a while, and when he was in one of those moods where you had to blame _someone_ for your bad day, so why not the person you most hate? But in his current state, he wasn't feeling it.

**[Message to: Frog]**

**Shut it, I'm not in the mood. Just be ready when we get there, we're late as it is.**

**[Sent 11:06am]**

**[Message from: Frog]**

**Oh? Whatever is the matter, Arthur? There's something wrong, non?**

**[Sent 11:07am]**

**[Message to: Frog]**

**Like I would tell you of all people. Go to hell.**

**[Sent 11:07am]**

**[Message from: Frog]**

**You're so mean to me, mon ami… what did I do to deserve such foul treatment?**

**[Sent 11:08am]**

Already sick of the conversation, England deleted the message and turned off his phone, peeking one last time at the wallpaper. He turned to look at Alfred, who was nodding his head to the music, Nantucket bobbing up and down. Alfred was off-key and loud, his booming voice making the whole car seem to vibrate with each note. As much as he wanted to smack America in the back of the head, he let his younger brother be, looking out the window instead. He had nothing better to do anyway.

The palm trees outside his window flew past in a blur, and Arthur opened it, letting the warm, fresh air blow through his hair and sting his eyes. Concentrating on breathing and easing his nerves, he closed his eyes and began to drift off.

Abruptly, the singing came to a stop as the car screeched to a halt. Alfred cursed and honked his horn loudly, whilst Arthur was jerked forward, his phone flying out of his hands and breaking in half against the dashboard.

"Shit! SHIT!" America cried, rolling down his window. The traffic in front of the two spread for what looked like a good mile, and the whole highway was full of screeching cars and honking. "You've got to be kidding me! You've got to be _fucking kidding_ me!"

Arthur just sat there. He looked at the cracked phone parts littering the floor of the car, his brother screaming an array of vulgarity out the ajar window, the cars in front of him all honking, and finally at the cruise line brochure that was resting in the cup holder.

And he _lost it._

**Oh my god. It just hit me. This is my first ever fanfiction. And I'm _posting_ it. You have no idea how much courage _that _took… It also took a lot of persuasion and extra help from a certain someone… (*cough* *cough*_ Jayemkun…) _But hey, here it is! Finally, right? It's funny, I wrote this chapter like, two or three months ago. Staying up late and typing, editing, editing again, editing yet _again_. It sucks at the time, but it's allll part of 'the process'. Look what I got out of it! The first chapter of my first fanfic, and I'm pretty proud of myself. I can't believe I'm going to actually post it. Anyway, you're probably bored now of reading this… Thanks soooo much for reading, please review, and I hope to see you guys again in chapter two!**

**Oh, and I guess I should probably say I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters. Although it's on my slowly growing birthday list.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Almost There**

From the perspective of about four cars away, it looked like there was a gang fight going on in the Jeep. Germany let out a rough sigh and gripped the steering wheel. He was stressed out already, and getting into traffic didn't help. Italy grabbed onto Germany's sleeve, startling the blonde, and making splotchy red rise to his cheeks.

"Lud? Are we there yet?" Feliciano tilted his head, his curl bobbing against the seat as he looked into his blonde companion's soft blue eyes.

Ludwig sighed and put his head in his hands, hoping to himself that Italy didn't notice the embarrassing shade of red that his face was displaying. As much as he wanted to deny it, the excited look on Italy's face was making his heart quicken and his chest tighten.

"Nein, Feli, does it _look _we're there?"

"No… I just thought that maybe-"

"Asking again isn't going to help us get there. Sit back and settle down."

"Okay…"

He turned back to the scene that was occurring in front of him, ignoring the jerking movements that Feliciano was making. The boy was unable to stay still for at least one minute...

He was pretty sure- no _positive- _that it was America's car that he saw four cars up. He had seen that car before, and he knew that he wouldn't see any other like it. He had heard enough of America's bragging about it to know that it was one-of-a-kind. But it wasn't the car itself that made Germany curious; it was what was happening _inside _the vehicle. Whatever was going on in it was causing the entire Jeep to shake back and forth, and omit a loud honk every once in a while. A blond head was shoved out of the window and then pulled back in and soon after another blond head popped out of the sunroof at the top. Over the sound of the obnoxious honking of all other cars stuck in the never ending traffic, you could hear voices ringing out louder than anything else. He couldn't quite make it out, but hearing only the insults "Hamburger-eating-fatass-mother-fucker" and "Pussy-tea-drinking-limey-bastard" he had a feeling he knew what the commotion was.

America and England must be fighting… again…

Feli grabbed Germany's hand and gave him a childish toothy smile. Ludwig looked at him, then at their hands and his face turned redder than before, the color of a tomato. Embarrassed and realizing that they weren't going anywhere, Germany just leaned back in his seat and tried to forget that his hand was being grasped by the small Italian, who was practically bouncing out of his seat.

"Luddy! I'm so excited! A _whole week _just us! It's going to be fun, no? We're going to go jet skiing, and swimming, and surfing, and eat the _best _foods, and we won't have to work or worry about training, and you can even sleep in! This is going to be the best cruise in the world! I'm so glad that you agreed to go with me! I would have been so lonely. Lovi said that he couldn't make it. He and Antonio are going to be spending this week together near the beach." Italy took in a sharp breath, and continued, "Wanna hear a secret? Lovi is finally going to ask Antonio to marry him! The two surely love each other, although my brother sometimes has… troubles… showing his affection and true feelings. I'm so excited for him, and I'm hoping that it goes well. They seem to be the perfect match, as Antonio is the only one I know who can tell what Lovi is really feeling besides me. What do you think? They're a cute couple, no?"

"Umm… Ja." Germany grunted and let Feli continue to chatter on about weddings and love, a topic he wasn't very comfortable with. He just nodded when he needed to and in the meantime kept his eye on America's car, which was finally seeming to stop it's shaking, at least most of it. He almost didn't notice Italy slowly stop talking until he felt the boy cuddle into his arm, and now using it as a pillow, fall asleep.

He changed so quickly, one minute hyper, the next sleeping soundly. Ludwig glanced quickly at the clock. Oh, it was 12… he was usually taking a siesta now at home. Sighing quietly, he grabbed his jacket off the backseat of the car and draped it over the Italian's shoulders, not wanting to him to catch cold, even if it was hot out.

"…Thank you, Luddy…" The small voice was almost unheard, and Ludwig found himself smiling despite himself. In a way that only Italy could make him smile.

...

"Mon Dieu, where _are_ they?" Francis grumbled, pacing back and forth in the kitchen area of their small hotel room, all the while glancing over at his phone, as if expecting a call at that very moment. He'd been pacing for a good forty-five minutes now, while Canada just sat on the couch, flipping through the various channels on the American stations. He had been watching a particularly good hockey game, but it was over, 19-14. Definitely not as exciting as the ones he attended at home, as he wasn't familiar with the two teams playing.

"M-maybe they're just in traffic. Don't worry, they're probably fine." Matthew sighed as he got up from the couch and crossed the room, putting a hand on his older brother's tense shoulders.

"Worried? _Worried? _Who said I was worried, Mathieu?" He said, turning sharply, almost bashing heads with the smaller blonde. "I'm _not_ worried."

Matthew, startled by France's sudden mood swing, cowered and sat himself in a chair by the TV. "S-Sorry… I guess I'm worried, is all. I-I think I'll go take a walk outside, i-if you don't m-mind. This room is a bit stuffy for m-my taste."

France looked up guiltily. His eyes softened. "Go ahead. Clear your head; you need it, non? I apologize for snapping…"

"Oh, n-no, really, it's quite alright…" Canada replied quickly, shaking his head. At least he was being remembered, that was what counted. He slid his feet into his sneakers and snapped his fingers twice. Kumajiro padded from the other room, yawning and showing his long, sharp teeth.

"Who?"

"Canada. Come on, let's walk."

Kumajiro didn't seem to like that idea. He plopped down on the tile. "Tired."

"A walk will wake you up, Kuma." Matthew walked over to where his bear was curled up. He put out a hand and began stroking his fur, getting a familiar feel of comfort and security through the action.

"No. I stay." The bear rolled onto his back, allowing Canada to rub his belly.

"Please?"

"No. Hungry."

"Who's going to feed you here?"

"That guy." Canada followed his gaze to where France was sitting at the table, sending out what Matthew guessed was a pretty heated text, as France had a determined look on his face and seemed to smash each letter on his tiny keyboard.

Francis didn't even look up as he replied, "Leave him here, mon petite. I'll see to it that he's taken care of."

Kumajiro looked smug as he turned and padded into the kitchen, plopping down by France's feet. Canada sighed. He wouldn't press the matter, he decided. If he wanted time to be alone, he had better leave then.

"O-okay then. I'm leaving," Canada said as he opened the hotel door. "I'll be back."

"Oui." France said. He was reaching into the cabinet, whilst Kuma circled his feet, tongue lolling out. Canada shook his head and suppressed a laugh. Kumajiro would be France's best friend- until there was someone else around to feed him. With a happy nod, he walked out, closed the door behind him, and jogged down the hall to the elevator.

Matthew pressed the down button and waited, jogging in place until the sharp ding sounded and he was able to climb in. The elevator smelled like a combination of cleaning chemicals and pool water, and was surrounded on three sides by big shiny mirrors. Canada gazed at his reflection, the shoulder-length blonde wavy hair that had France more than once had bragged he inherited from him, the soft violet eyes, shielded by rectangular glasses identical to Alfred's. In fact, the glasses weren't where the similarities stopped. Canada's face was matching to his twin's, down to the small round nose and sprinkling of freckles covering it. Despite that he was the tiniest bit smaller, didn't have defined muscles stretching over his chest and arms, and could definitely be labeled as scrawny, he resembled his twin brother in more than just one way.

The elevator reached its destination- the parking garage- with a beep, and Canada sauntered out. His hair was immediately swept back by the cool breeze, which felt amazing after being in such a stuffy hotel room. France, as much as he loved his older brother, was a bit over-enthusiastic for his taste, dragging him to bar after bar during the last week. He had put Matthew on the spot at least a dozen times, telling him he'd surely pick up some girls and "get laid," something that Canada wasn't exactly okay with. He hadn't drunk a bit of alcohol in a good year, not since America had dragged him out to a party and Canada had woken up with a terrible headache, a girl in bed with him, and a fuzzy recollection of what had happened the night before.

Canada walked swiftly out of the parking garage, taking a deep breath of the beautiful air outside. The palm trees swayed, looking on the brink of collapsing, but somehow stayed up high in the air. It was funny, he thought to himself, how different his and America's personalities really were, like two complete opposites. America was everything he himself wanted to be. Unafraid to speak his opinion, or of what people would think of it. He stood up for what he believed in, got his point across, and defended himself easily. No one could forget his brother after meeting him. Himself on the other hand… he was boring, shy, and unable to speak up. No one remembered him. Most of the time it was as if he didn't exist. Things had changed since he and his loving little family of brothers had gone their own ways.

America had been the first one to go, the one crack that widened, eventually shattering their family into pieces. He had been quarreling with England about _everything_ in the last few years, from his curfew down to what he was allowed to wear every day. Almost every day America would come home hours late and immediately start arguing about freedom, an argument that always ended with the threat of leaving, but Al would always wake up the next morning cheerful as ever, only to have the cycle start again. He remembered the way that England and France had whispered furiously in the kitchen at night after the fights, and sometimes he would sit on the stairs listening, unseen.

"Don't you understand? This isn't a laughing matter; I'm beginning to think that one of these days he really _will_ leave! Aren't you the least bit worried?" England had shout-whispered, his voice echoing through the dark kitchen.

"You need to calm yourself, Angleterre. He can't be serious; the boy can barely keep his room in order, not to mention a whole house and a whole country. I don't believe that he'll be able to live alone." France cooed, seeming like he didn't care, but Canada could hear the slight waver under his voice.

"You'd better hope your right, Frog… I'm just… so tired of all the fighting." Arthur sighed. He sounded so tired… and so hurt. Canada would always feel slightly amazed at the emotions that Arthur showed, the very ones he never revealed to him or Al; the emotions that surprisingly only France had seen and was able to read.

"Why? He's a teenager, Arthur, that's what they do. Besides, I don't see what the big deal is. Change his curfew to a later time, let him wear what he wants, allow him to go to concerts-"

"No way in hell!"

"…and you say America doesn't get his stubborn attitude from you…"

Around that point a chair would scrape back and the sound and smell of tea being made would waft into the hallway. Canada would stand and walk back up the stairs, feeling childish for eavesdropping. He would walk back to his room, a feeling of dread pulling at his stomach as he glimpsed into Alfred's room. The windows were always open. And Al was never there. God knows where he snuck out to at night, and Canada wasn't about to tell anyone.

Only a few months later, America had declared war on England, demanding his independence. At the time, the house was gloomy and lonely, and Canada had followed suit right only a year after. He wasn't sure why it was that England and France had stopped living together, be he supposed it had to do with the fact that the twins were no longer there.

And so came the end of their tiny family. When life was full of bliss and no one was forgotten. Of course when saying that, he was mostly referring to himself. It wasn't until after he had broken away from France that he had realized quickly that you wouldn't get far as a nation if you couldn't speak up for yourself. To this day, the only people who ever remembered him were Alfred, Arthur, and Francis, but even they sometimes forgot him.

He guessed it would always be that way. In fact, he was in utter shock that his brother had invited him to accompany him on this cruise, as he and Alfred hadn't talked in a long time. America had run up to him as he was leaving the last world nations meeting, grabbing the collar of his shirt and turning him around to look into his eyes.

"Matt. Look what I got!" America had waved a cruise line brochure in his face and pulled it back before he could register what was happening. "You wanna go on a cruise with me? France and Iggy are coming too!"

Canada had cleared his throat and chocked out a surprised, "I-I w-would like that."

"Cool! I'll text you the deets later!" America ruffled Matthew's hair and walked off, a smug smile on his face.

Canada was left in the dust, his mind spinning. Was Al planning something? What was he trying to accomplish? Obviously, this would only end in screaming and fighting. The four of them hadn't spent time together like that since they broke apart. He had just watched his brother climb into his Jeep and drive off, until he could no longer see the bright vehicle covered with stars.

The loud booming of a stereo and a loud voice broke Canada from his reverie. He turned to see the very Jeep he had just been thinking about pulling up next to him. The radio was blaring inside, and when the window was rolled down, the music's volume increased, feeling like a slap to the face.

"Yo! Matt! Where's Francis?" America yelled overtop the music, a rap song that had a loud bass beat.

"Alfred! Turn down the volume _right this minute_ or he won't be able to hear you, you git!" A voice with a strong English accent broke rang out, with an underlying parental tone. Arthur.

"Ah! Right!" America, oblivious to the glare that England was providing in his direction, grabbed the knob in the middle of his radio and the music stopped entirely. Arthur gave an angry sigh next to him and crossed his arms, muttering something about a "worsening headache" and "damn Americans".

If Canada could see clearly, England's cheek looked swollen and bruised, and he seemed to be cradling his left arm. His elbow was scraped and had scabbed over, with a small amount of blood circling it as the only clue that the scab had only recently hardened. America seemed to be fine though, besides a red mark on his forehead.

Wanting to mind his own business, Canada just smiled and excused himself to go and gather up France as well as all of their bags. He jogged back to the parking garage and ran to the elevator, trying to work out in his head what exactly it was that had happened to the two of them on the way there. It wasn't until he was walking back to his hotel room that it clicked.

America and England had gotten into a fight in the car. And based on their moods, America had won, as he always did.

Although it was rude, he smiled to himself as he inserted his room key into the slot. Maybe this week _would_ be just like old times.

...

**Thanks to everyone to reviewed and followed! I was overwhelmed with the amount of you who put me on Story Alert, and I really appreciate it! I know I got this one out rather fast, but I had the second chapter already pretty much typed up, and I figured that you guys would like it if I posted it sooner rather than later… Also, I'd like to say that I'm going to a sleep away camp next week, so I won't be publishing the next chapter next week. If I manage to finish it before next week, I'll make sure to put it up, but if not, I didn't forget. I'm just at camp. Anyway, please review and feel free to PM me at any time! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next chapter!**

**And again, I don't own Hetalia, or any of the characters in it. If you're looking for a good birthday present for me though, it's at the top of the list.**


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